


Everything That Makes You

by writerstrash



Series: Raising Peter: Superfamily Oneshots [19]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fatherhood, Fluff, Kid Peter, M/M, Parenthood, Superfamily, Superhusbands, Teen Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23326597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerstrash/pseuds/writerstrash
Summary: Peter growing up and adjusting to life.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Raising Peter: Superfamily Oneshots [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1260020
Comments: 5
Kudos: 105





	Everything That Makes You

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for not posting much lately, but I'm sure you can all understand given the state of the world right now and thrown in with some of my own personal hell. I hope you're all staying safe and inside if you can. I know a lot of people - including myself - are out of a job right. Hopefully immersing ourselves in stories and characters can make things a little easier. So, right back to it...

**Six Years Old**

Peter sat on the chair in the optometrist exam room, a frown on his lips and sad tears welling up in his eyes. The sight broke both Steve and Tony's heart. The idea of their son being upset was painful, but seeing the absolutely miserable pout sticking out from his lip was killing them. Peter was good at that pout, too. 

"Pete, it's okay," Steve assured, grabbing his son's hand. "This is gonna help you,"

"Won't it be nice to see all nice and clear?" Tony added, right by his husband's side. "We can do colouring in without those headaches, and we can watch movies without squinting,"

"I don't want glasses," Peter whined. "I'll look funny,"

There goes their hearts again.

"Oh, Pete, you could never look funny," Steve shook his head. 

"You only look funny when we soap up your hair like a shark!" Tony reminded, getting the smallest smile from his son before it returned to the sad frown.

"I don't want to look funny at school," 

"Pete, lots of other kids have glasses too," Steve explained. "And you get to pick whatever ones you want! You could even get ones like daddy when he reads,"

"You'd look much more handsome in yours than I do, trust me," Tony encouraged.

Peter thought for a moment. 

"Why do I have silly eyes?"

"You don't have silly eyes,"

"But they don't _work_ properly," Peter sobbed.

"A lot of people have eyes that don't work as well as they should, kiddo," Tony explained. "Doesn't mean they're silly. You can still do everything you normally do, but you'll be able to _see_ better now,"

"None of my friends have glasses,"

"Hey, your uncle Bruce wears glasses all the time," Steve pointed out. "And isn't he the smartest guy you know?"

Tony pulled a face, but didn't say a word.

"Uh huh," Peter nodded. "But I'm not as smart as uncle Bruce. And no one else in my class wears 'em,"

"I bet they're all gonna wish they could have glasses now, Pete, because you look _smarter_ than uncle Bruce. And cuter than any other thing on the entire planet,"

Peter's lips turned up into a shy little grin and he turned to nuzzle into Steve's side. The optometrist had left the room a few minutes ago to let Peter choose some frames from their selection and work on his prescription. Being the brave little boy he was, Peter hadn't said a word about being upset until he was just alone with his parents. Self-confidence at any age is important, but Peter was just starting school and making friends, and it was obvious that this was going to add to his nerves.

But a few days later, Peter had his glasses. Thin, black, circular rims on his tiny little face. Steve couldn't help grinning every time he caught a glimpse of his son. Especially when they were on their way to school and Peter had his hair brushed back, an excited smile on his lips. 

"My friend Harry said my glasses look really cool," he told his parents. "And sometimes I let him try them on too,"

"See? I _knew_ everyone would want glasses now," Tony smiled, lifting his son up for a cuddle. "You're too cute for words, kid. Do you know that?"

"Uh huh," Peter laughed.

"You do, don't you? You play us all so well," his father continued.

Steve watched on, full of love. 

* * *

**8 Years Old**

It wasn't often that Steve and Tony were woken in the middle of the night these days. The team had a handle on most things that went on out in the world. Tony and Steve were senior members of the Avengers now, there was a whole new team to handle threats. The alarm only went off for emergencies these days. Situations where Iron Man and Captain America were needed. 

But when they woke up in the early hours of the morning to Friday's alert, it had nothing to do with bad guys or bombs or aliens.

_"Peter is having severe breathing difficulty,"_

They were both out of bed within seconds, running down the hall as if there really was a bomb about to explode. When they reached Peter's room, he was sitting up in the bed clutching at his chest, his breath wheezy and pained. 

"It's okay, it's okay, we're here," Tony soothed, helping his son sit up further.

Steve knew what was happening immediately. It was as if he was living a snapshot of his own childhood. 

"Papa!" Peter cried, reaching to Steve with panic and terror.

"Calm down, Pete," Steve soothed, running his hand over Peter's cheek. "I need you to look at me, okay? Nowhere else but me, you got it?"

Peter nodded, still coughing and wheezing. Tony had emergency help on the way already, and his duty right now was to sit behind his son and hold him upright to open his lungs.

"Now I want you to match me, okay? When I take a big, deep breath, I want you to talk one with me," Steve instructed, taking his son's hand into his palm. "Okay, first big breath, here we go,"

Peter watched his father, taking in a deep breath once Steve did, but coughing immediately and struggling for air.

"That's okay, we can keep trying buddy," Steve insisted. "We're gonna sit here and play this game for a while so daddy can go get the inhaler,"

Tony nodded, a silent understanding of what was going on. Steve always kept inhalers in the cabinet, ready for these exact emergencies. Steve's body might not be able to suffer through this anymore, but he knew that one day Peter or Tony would need to use it.

Once it was just Peter and Steve left sitting on the bed, they practiced evening out their breathing again.

"Put one hand on your tummy, and then your other on my tummy, okay?" Steve instructed. "We'll breathe together,"

Peter reached out to put his hand on Steve's stomach, nodding as they began to inhale. It was a little better this time, but Peter couldn't hold his breath for long at all. As soon as his lungs were full, he was coughing it back out. But at least it was calming him down. 

Steve's biggest concern was Peter's hyperventilating. Panic was the worst thing for an asthma attack, but considering this was Peter's first experience with one, it was more than understandable. Steve would be lying if he said he wasn't close to breaking down with panic as well. But he had to hold himself together for Peter, just like Tony had to.

They hated seeing their son suffer and Tony became crippled with physical pain every time he had to see Peter go through something distressing. Which is why Steve was so proud of the man for coming back into the room calmly, handing the inhaler to Steve along with the plastic spacer. 

Peter looked up to Tony who just smiled back at him and brushed his sweaty hair from his face.

"You're okay, buddy," he soothed. "Uncle Bruce is coming by any minute now," 

"W-wha' tha'?" he asked, his hand shaking as he pointed to the spacer.

"It's gonna make sure you get all the medicine," Steve explained, attaching it to the inhaler. "Time to do those big breaths again, okay? This is special air that's gonna help you take better breaths,"

"Medicine?" the boy asked.

"Yeah, it's medicine," Steve nodded. "Okay, we ready?"

Peter reached out to grab Tony's hand, clutching it close to his chest as Steve placed the lip of the spacer against Peter's mouth. Two pumps of inhaler later, Peter's eyes were closing in pure relief as he took in as much oxygen as he could. Steve kept the spacer to his mouth for a while longer after that, making sure he got every bit of it. 

Hours later, as they laid in bed together in Steve and Tony's room, Peter asked that same question that seemed to break their hearts again.

"Why is there stuff wrong with me?" 

Tony shuffled closer to the boy, pressing kisses to the crown of his head.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with you," Steve assured. "Everything you have, everything you do, is all for a very important reason, buddy,"

"What is it?"

"To be just _you_ , Pete. We wouldn't want anyone else. Asthma isn't something that makes you wrong or different," Steve explained. "All it means is you get special medication and sometimes you'll run out of breath a little quicker than normal,"

"What if that happens again?" he asked, referring to the scary attack earlier in the night.

"Then we get the inhaler and we breathe through it best we can," Tony advised. "And you know we're gonna come in and be with you every time, okay?"

Peter nodded, snuggling into the pillows stacked high behind his head. 

"I wish I was normal,"

Steve almost felt like crying. He knew what it felt like the be a child with asthma and see other kids run around without any problems and sleep through the night and not have to use an inhaler or sit with steaming water to open up the lungs.

"You _are_ normal, Peter," he whispered, watching as the boy's eyes began to droop. "Except to me and your dad, you're the most special person in the whole world,"

Peter smiled, dopey and sleepy and barely awake.

"The whole world?"

"The whole world,"

And there was no feeling like watching their son fall asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

**13 Years Old**

Peter rolled his eyes as his father ran over the checklist one more time. They had been planning for this school trip for over a week and now, on the morning that he was leaving, Steve decided he needed to triple check every single thing his son needed.

"I've got my toothbrush," Peter nodded. "I've got my soap and shampoo and sunscreen,"

"Toothpaste?"

" _Yes_ , I have toothpaste. That and the toothbrush kinda go hand in hand, pops,"

"Pete, you're gonna be away for four days," Steve sighed. "You don't want to forget anything,"

"Exactly. You wanted the whole 'no hovering parents' school trip, so we're not driving out in the middle of the night to the campgrounds just because you forgot underwear," Tony added, sipping his coffee by the kitchen bench.

Peter groaned.

"I have underwear, dad," 

"Maybe pack some extra underwear," Steve added. "In case you go fall in the water or get them dirty," 

"I have extras packed," Peter insisted. "It's _four_ days, I'm not packing for a month!"

"Fine!" Steve threw his hands up. "But your dad's right, we're not sending you a bar of soap or socks if you forget them. You gotta learn to pack for yourself,"

"I can pack for myself! I've packed all this by myself!" 

"Which is exactly why pop is going over it all again," Tony laughed. "You haven't got the best track record for remembering things, buddy."

"I have everything I need," Peter assured, adjusting his glasses. "Can we go now? I'm gonna be the last one on the bus,"

It took twenty minutes to get Peter to school on time, huddled around all the other children ready to have their names marked off and their bags stored under the bus ready for their journey. Steve and Tony hugged their son tight, secretly more emotional about this than they thought they would be. Four whole days without their son. 

"Call us if you need anything, okay?" Tony told him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I know we said we won't be running anything that you forget, but you can _always_ call us, and we'll be there as soon as we can,"

"I know," Peter smiled, squeezing his fathers in one last hug.

"Oh!" Steve gasped, almost ready to walk away from his son. "Your inhaler!"

"I have it," Peter pat his backpack. "And a spare in my luggage,"

Steve gave the boy a relieved grin, pulling him close just once more to kiss his temple.

The boy that was once embarrassed about his glasses had three different pairs in various styles, and he had inhalers on hand for all occasions. 

Peter Parker was their son, and he was perfect just the way he was. 


End file.
